A Short Walk Down a Long Road
by GrippenJ39
Summary: Welcome to New Vegas, where the caps flow as free as the beer! Keep a gun at your side at all times, and feel free to walk the town. We hope you enjoy your time here Mr. Lansing, 'cause you'll be here for a long while.
1. Planned Killings and Food

**AN: This is a repost and rewrite of an early story I had. Updates will be sporadic at best... Sorry. Anyways, this was beta'ed by my good friend mollyjr3. Be sure to check out her work too. I own nothing but the idea... and I'm not too sure about that.**

Donovan Lansing sighed as he opened the door to his assigned home. His hands fuddled around in search of the light switch for a few seconds before it clicked and the fluorescent light above him sprang to life with a hum. He shut the door, locking it behind him, and then crossed over the room to the plain, blue couch that was no doubt in every other house on the block. 'At least the base housing here is better than the barracks in McCoy.' He thought as he set the duffle bag he was carrying down on the sofa. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a set of night clothes and an IPod with a speaker mount. He walked into the bedroom and set the speaker and Ipod down on the night stand, hitting 'play' on the first playlist. As _In One Ear_ filtered out from the mount he changed out of his uniform and into his night clothes. Donovan set his watch down next to the speaker, tucked the nine millimeter pistol under his pillow, and flicked off the lights. He rolled under the covers of the bed and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would come quickly. Just before consciousness began to fade, Donovan could've sworn he heard voices. Voices that were oddly familiar, but in his sleep addled state, he couldn't place them.

"Are you sure about this sir? This guy?" The first voice said. It was smooth and cultured.

"Of course I'm sure! Don't doubt me boy. It's not wise to test my patience. Your partner learned that the hard way, no?" The second voice was more forceful and gruff. A sense of authority seemed to radiate from it.

"… Yes sir." The first voice responded, somewhat angry.

"Good. Do it."

The voices faded and Donovan fell deeper into sleep. That night, he slept peacefully for the last time in a long while. That night, Donovan Lansing dreamed of lasers and powered armor, of poker chips and bottle caps. He dreamed of Fallout: New Vegas. A game he would come to hate, nearly as much as he would love.

Donovan woke with a start, face down into his pillow in utter darkness and silence, which was odd. The IPod should've been playing, and he'd always woken up at the break of day with the sunlight. He frowned, something was very wrong here. He reached his hand under his pillow to grip his pistol, only to find that it wasn't there. 'Shit.' He rolled over quickly, threw the covers off, and sat up, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He sat stock-still, waiting and listening for anything out of the ordinary or possibly life threatening. By the time his eyes had adjusted, he knew he wasn't in the house anymore. Probably wasn't even on the base. He scanned the room quickly. There were what looked like desks and chairs splayed all around him. The place looked like an old school room or something. He slid off of the bed and rose into a crouch slowly, careful not to make any noise. Don took a tentative step forward and cringed when his bare foot hit something solid and sharp. There was a crackling noise, a hum, and then a light flickered to life right under his foot. He blinked and leaned down to pick it up. It was light and fairly large, about as long as his forearm. The light was being emitted from a relatively large screen on what he assumed was the front. The screen displayed an old-style "Please Stand By" image with what looked like a set of rotating crosshairs underneath. As the pieces began to fall into place within his head, the screen changed. Now it was black with only a few words appearing in the corner. "Place over left arm to begin sync."

Numbly, he placed the device over his hand and slid it up his arm. With a hiss of pressurized seals, the machine locked into place. There was a sharp pain that flew up his arm which lasted for only a few seconds before it changed into tingles. A loading bar appeared on the screen that quickly filled. The device chirped once and then proclaimed that "Startup is complete." Donovan stared blankly at his now covered arm. If this was what he thought it was… The sceen darkened for a second before coming back to life. On it was the poster boy of his favorite game. The Vault Boy proudly stood above the words, "Pipboy 3000-A Series." The Vault Boy then winked and disappeared. In his place was standard menu/inventory labeling system in the Fallout universe. He reached for one of the knobs, but the Pipboy apparently had ideas of its own, and flicked through the tabs by itself. It stopped on the Notes section, in which only one was listed. "Read Me Now." Donovan blinked. He hesitated for a second, and then hit the select button on the side. The file opened immediately and text scrawled across the screen.

"_Hello Mr. Lansing. May we be the first to welcome you to New Vegas. We're sure you have questions. Unfortunately, you won't receive answers for them. At least, not for a while. All you need to know is why you're here. You have a job to do Mr. Lansing. A very important one. We know that you might not feel very charitable towards us at the moment, but we felt that you would be the most suited to the task. You were the most adaptable out of all the subjects we had eyes on. We know you will do well here. Your task is simple. Protect Number Six. You know who that is. Keep Six safe. She is your ticket back to your home. We have taken the liberty of supplying you with some items you should find useful. They are nearby. Use them to protect Six and yourself. The date is October 18th, 2281. You have the rest of the day to prepare yourself before Six shows up. This place is your reality now Mr. Lansing. If you die here, you die for real. Remember that. Good luck, and Godspeed."_

Donovan stood there in stunned disbelief, staring at the wrist-mounted inventory unit. "I must be dreaming. This is can't be real." He said aloud and reached up to pinch his cheek. It hurt. Realization dawned. "I'm in a game… I'm actually in Fallout." Donovan didn't even want to think about how impossible that fact was. He looked back to the screen and quickly reread the message, trying to pick out any bits of information he could from it. So for one, The Courier was a girl. Two, whoever sent him here was very powerful, and not just because they could rip people out of their own dimensions and throw them into new ones. Three, his only ticket out had something to do with either the Courier herself, or something in the game's campaign. Four, whoever these assholes were, they gave very little in the way of information. He sighed and sank back down onto the bed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. After a few seconds, Donovan began to flip through the Pip-boy's tabs to the Map sections. It was pretty much the same as the game, except, most locations of importance were already filled in. Places like Primm, Novac, NCRCF, and Vegas all showed as lit map-markers. The only noticeable change from the game was the ability to add personalized marker points. According to the map, he was currently in the Goodsprings Schoolhouse. He did another cursory glance around, and his surroundings finally clicked in his head. He looked around for the items the note had mentioned and found them pretty easily. A box that was large enough to hold a Javelin Anti-Tank Launcher comfortably sat a few feet from the end of the bed. He stood and walked over to it, careful not to step on any of the nails protruding from the floor.

Donovan popped the lid and threw it back, banging it on the foot of the bed, and peered inside. Sighing in frustration at his inability to see anything in the dark, he turned to the Pipboy on his wrist and flicked through the features until he found the light function. The glove-light flickered on and shone brightly, illuminating the trunk's contents. Lying on top of everything else was something he easily recognized. A M4A1 with an M203 and a CompM2 reflex sight attached to it. His preferences actually. When he touched the side of the rifle, a soft ping brought his attention away from the trunk and down to the Pipboy. A small message had appeared in the center of the screen. It read,

"_Weapon Detected-Type: Rifle-Begin Storage?-Y/N" _

Donovan blinked in surprise. He reached over with his open right hand and tapped the affirmative button. Another ping rang out and the rifle itself flashed with light. Donovan almost dropped the thing by accident. In seconds, the rifle seemed to disintegrate before his very eyes, leaving nothing behind but his empty hands. "What the Hell?" He looked back to the Pipboy. Sure enough, under the Weapons category, an M4A1 was listed. It was then that he noticed that his weight counter had gone up by 7lbs, its limit being 310. "Well… that makes things convenient. I guess if I hold something with the Pipboy glove it'll let me store it." He turned back to the trunk. The next thing he pulled out was a box labeled "Ammunition" He opened the lid and peered inside. Six magazines for the M4 lay inside, along with eight for what looked like an M79 pistol. He pulled them out of the box, only to have the Pipboy store them before he could do anything. He stared at the machine for a few seconds before shrugging and looking back into the container. There were ten MREs and assorted hygiene products inside a bag, all of which went into the Pipboy, a set of lock picking tools, the pistol the clips were for, several grenades, a KBAR knife, a Weapon Repair Kit and an Armor Patch Kit, a bag of caps labeled "1000", and medical supplies. After the last of the extraneous items were stored he glanced at the weight counter. It read at 45 lbs. He pulled the last thing out of the trunk. It was another box, large and very heavy. Setting it on the ground, he re-materialized the KBAR and slit open the wrappings around the box.

Inside was what looked like a set of armor with a helmet. He grabbed the helmet first, letting it de-materialize, and then did the same with the armor. Once the storage was finished, he looked back to the Pipboy. Under the Apparel screen the name of the armor set appeared. He blinked again before tapping the select button and standing up, hoping that the Pipboy would do the rest. It did. A soft white glow enveloped him as the Type-44 Chinese Heavy Armor settled into place over him, his original clothes appearing in the armor's place within the inventory system. Donovan materialized the helmet and balaclava/gas-mask and set both down on the floor. He quickly did a self-inspection of the armor and found that it must've been designed for him, personally. On the left side of the breast-plate his name was stenciled, along with his blood type. He flexed his gauntleted fists and twisted this way and that. Surprisingly, even though the armor offered excellent protection, it was also very flexible, and allowed for movements that other contemporary armor sets couldn't. What had him surprised though was that the armor wasn't in the original version of the game. The armor set was a mod for Fallout 3, and as far as he knew, hadn't yet been ported to New Vegas. What's even more was the fact that the armor design originally came from an anime, not a random idea or canonical design. Never-the-less, he wasn't complaining. The armor was fantastic in and of itself, and on top of that, it looked totally badass.

He checked the time. 12:34. That explained why he was hungry. He stood there for a few minutes while deciding what to do now. "Well… I'm not going to get anywhere on an empty stomach… I'll figure it out after I eat. To the Saloon then." He pulled the mask over his head and set the helmet on top. Rematerializing the M4, he pulled the strap over his shoulder, moved over to the door, opened it, and walked out into the Nevada sun.

As he stepped out of the door he threw his hand in front of his face. "Well… that's really bright." Almost a second too late, the glass in the helmet adjusted to the light, polarizing itself. 'That's a design flaw…' Donovan sighed. 'It's freakin' hot out here. Ugh.' When the eye plates stopped adjusting he scanned around himself, looking over the dilapidated buildings of Goodsprings. The town seemed almost exactly like it was in the game. Chet's general store and the Saloon sat on the main-street, which winded its way up the hill on the west side of the town, leading to Doc's house and the gas station Ringo was holed up in. Don found it really odd. If this was reality, he expected things to be different. The towns should be bigger at least. He didn't think that the population of pre-war Las Vegas, Nevada would fit into the seemingly 1km by 1km space that the game version took up. 'Whatever, not like it matters anyways.' He thought and stepped up to the fence surrounding the school. He kicked it soundly with his foot. The rotted wood shattered easily and scattered across the ground. He shrugged and began to walk towards the saloon. As he passed the General Store he observed Chet, who was sweeping the dust off his front porch. The man looked up, and his eyes widened noticeably. No doubt seeing a man in full combat gear that's almost a foot taller than you was slightly intimidating. The gas-mask with the glowing red eyes probably didn't help either. Donovan barely held in a snort at the slimy little man and stopped walking, staring directly at him without saying a word.

Sweat appeared on Chet's brow as the armored figure stared him down, unmoving. It was at that point that Chet decided that discretion was the better part of valor and spun around, shooting into his shop and slamming the door behind him. Donovan shook his head slowly, chuckling quietly. He set off again, crossing the fifty or so feet to the Prospector's Saloon. As he stepped onto the porch, he looked to his right; spotting Easy Pete is his usual place, asleep… and snoring. He rolled his eyes and opened the wooden door to the Bar and walked in.

He found exactly what he expected to find. A pool table sat directly in front of him, to its left was a broken jukebox, a set of tables lay on its right, and behind it stood a girl that could have only been Sunny Smiles. Her dog, who lay below her, made its presence known. The little beast growled lowly at him as he entered, causing Sunny to reach slowly for the gun on her back. He just stared at them, specifically Sunny, neither moving, nor speaking. He shifted his gaze down to the growling dog. It glared back and Sunny had grasped the butt of her rifle. He sighed, low and suffering, sounding mechanical coming from the mask's respirator before speaking. "What are you looking at dog?" He grunted. "I don't have any food for you." The dog growled again, short and deep before it let out a huff and turned away, causing Sunny to relax slightly. He shook his head and walked into the bar section of the building, reaching up to take his mask off in the process. He stored the thing and walked over to the counter, trying to blot out the horrible chords of "Johnny Guitar" as they screeched from the nearby radio. He settled onto one of the stools, which creaked under his weight. Donovan frowned for a second before shrugging it off and turning to Trudy, the barmaid, who was in turn staring intently at him. The brown haired woman already had taken a dislike to him it seemed, from the way her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. He stared impassively back at her, not giving in. Eventually, she broke the silence.

"What'll you have?" She said slowly. He blinked once.

"What do _you_ have?" He returned casually.

"Today's special is Brahmin Steak with Sunset Sarsaparilla. We also have gecko and squirrel." He shrugged.

"The special sounds fine. How much do I owe you?" She paused, staring at him again.

"Ten caps…" He nodded, materialized them in his hands, and gave them to her. She walked away, no doubt heading to the kitchen in the back. He sighed again, wincing at the music coming from the radio. 'Hmm… I wonder.' He raised his arm and set it on the counter so he could see the Pipboy. After flicking through the sections, he finally found the Radio tab. Sure enough, Radio New Vegas blinked happily on the screen at 101.3 FM. Out of curiosity, he flipped open the Music Archive section, and found a pleasant surprise. All the songs that were on his Ipod were there, along with a note that popped up reading:

"_A gift from us. Enjoy."_

'Hmm… I wonder if I can create a localized radio station…' He blinked, scanning over the settings and features under the Radio tab. 'Aha! Found it!' He tapped a few buttons quickly. 'Let's see… select from the whole library… What frequency? What the Hell, I'll just override RNV.' Pressing enter, a progress bar appeared in the middle of the screen before it quickly filled and the Pipboy chirped once. There was a burst of static that came from the little radio behind the counter before a different song from "Hallo Mister X" began to play. He grinned slightly as the other patrons started in their seats at the sudden change. Trudy came back in with a plate of what was at least recognizable as steak, and a bottle of Sunset. She set it down on the counter before turning to the radio.

"What the heck is this?" She asked frowning. Donovan tapped the edge of the counter once to get her attention.

""Cities in Dust" by Souixsie and the Banshees. My Pipboy emits a radio signal that overrides RNV apparently." She shrugged.

"Well, at least it's different. I swear, Radio New Vegas only has ten songs to play. Anyways, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here?" She said her face getting even more serious, if that was possible. He blinked at her owlishly for a few seconds.

"You… you don't beat around the bush do you?" She said nothing and instead continued to stare at him intently. He sighed. "Several things. Most of them haven't happened yet. I'm waiting for someone. A Courier. She's supposed to pass through here on her way to Vegas." Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed.

"And what do you want with this Courier? We don't abide by murder in this town." She stated flatly. He heard scraping of chairs behind him, and as he turned slightly, he noticed the ten or so people in the bar who had tensed, or moved to draw weapons. He snorted.

"Would I be telling you this if I planned to kill her?" He paused to let that sink in. "No. I've been hired as her guard for the rest of the trip. Which is why," he gestured to the armor he was wearing and the weapon slung over his shoulder. "I have all of this." He finished, and then promptly ignored all of them in favor of cutting into his food. The patrons and owner of the Saloon continued to stare at him for a while, finally making him look up. "What?" He asked. "Is there something on my face?"


	2. Boots On the Ground

**AN: Well. Here it is. It's been what? A month since the last chapter came out? Yeah. Don't complain. I'm just lucky I have it out at all. Once again, beta'ed by the lovely mollyjr3. Oh, and the cover art is new too, done for me by a good friend Chozogal. A solid thank you to InstaMash for the review. And for the second time running. I don't own anything but the idea. If Bandai were running Bethesda, I wouldn't even own that.**

The bolt of the M4 slid closed with a satisfying clank, chambering the first round in the clip. Donovan grinned slightly. The gun was in perfect working order, which was good. Very good. Fallout was notorious for their horrid weapon and armor conditions, but apparently, whoever had supplied him with the equipment, had gone the extra mile. The sight was already set up, the M203 was well oiled and good to fire, and the rifle itself was in impeccable condition. He raised the gun up to his shoulder and peered down the sight. The helmet's optical systems compensated slightly, and then fed more information onto his visor pieces displaying range, elevation, and even giving him a guideline to aim the rifle at so he would hit his target. In all honesty, he was slightly afraid of the armor. The fact that it not only synced with the Pipboy on his wrist, but could pick out what thing he wanted to shoot, which was a Sarsaparilla bottle currently, gave him the creeps. He knew that it would undoubtedly come in handy, especially on longer range targets, but that didn't make the feeling that the suit was tapping into his brain and could possibly kill him easily go away. Add that to the fact that VATS _was _actually tapping into his brain… Donovan was feeling a mite paranoid at the moment.

VATS activated. He pulled the trigger once. The rifle cracked sharply, recoil sending the barrel upwards, and the bullet turning the bottle into shards. Next bottle. Move, pull, shatter. Move, pull, shatter. Move, pull, shatter. Move, pull, shatter. All four bullets left the gun in less than a second, bottles exploding outwards before the shell casings even hit the dirt. As the adrenalin rush of VATS wore quickly off Donovan sagged slightly, lowering the rifle to point at the ground. 'Well, my skills haven't fallen any… and I doubt that I'll be missing anything anymore with VATS on…' He hummed slightly in thought. After fiddling around with the Pipboy for a while, he had discovered quite a few things about the curious little machine. Apparently, when VATS activated, it shoved so much adrenalin and chems into his system, that time actually seemed to slow down to a stop like it did in-game. This left him with nearly unlimited time to pick out individual targets and hit them with the accuracy of a superman. Unlike the game however, it wasn't limited to just head, torso, arms, legs, and whatever they were carrying. Instead, if he wanted to put a bullet through it, no matter what that thing was, VATS would let him put a bullet through it.

Aside from that, repeated use of VATS without a break wasn't the best thing to do. Instead of running out of Action Points, if he used it too much, he faced the very real threat of overdosing on the Pipboy's chemical enhancements. Which meant death. Painful death. The only thing he wouldn't have to worry about was addiction. The Pipboy automatically countered any addictive effects of the chemicals before they could take effect. Another thing, was that, if he was injured majorly, like getting shot or stabbed, the Pipboy would display exactly where the injury was, treatment recommendations, or stopgap measures that could be used to continue fighting or moving around the wound. All in all, he considered the Pipboy a very wonderful piece of combat and medical technology, and was seriously tempted to call it Skynet, or something similar, instead. After discovering its functions in depth, he had quickly deleted _Daisy Bell_ from his music archives.

Donovan slipped out the clip from the gun, quickly refilling the spent ammunition and set the rifle back over his shoulder. He checked the time; eighteen-hundred hours. He wasn't really sure when the opening sequence of events would occur, so he was just biding his time until he saw commotion up near the cemetery. Even then, He wouldn't interfere until after the Courier had been shot. As morbid as it sounded, and as much as he hated the idea of it, she wouldn't have the same motivation to get to Vegas, and it would change the basic plot too much for him to accurately predict what happened next. Already he was worried about how time itself would affect the various quests in the world. If he was lucky, the Courier would need to do too many side missions… That didn't even begin to take into account the things from the DLC they might encounter. He sighed.

"Damn. This is almost too much." He turned around and began walking away from the shooting range set up in the rocks behind the schoolhouse, heading for the Saloon again. As he walked past home, he waved slightly at the man sitting on the front porch. Doc Mitchell nodded to him before leaning back in his chair again, sipping the water in his hands. Don pushed the door of the bar open with his foot while dematerializing his headgear. Sunny looked up from her place at the pool table, where she and a random NPC were playing. "Oh. It's you again." Donovan hummed an acknowledgement to her before wandering back into the restroom to change out of his heavy armor. On his way back, he stopped quickly at the bar. Returning to the game-room with a glass of Nuka-Cola in his hands, he sat heavily down on one of the stools nearby.

"When one of you wins," He spared a glance at the table, "Sorry, when Sunny wins, I'm up next." The other man cried out indignantly, but was silenced as Sunny sunk another ball. Sunny paused for a second, and then nodded

"Why not? Maybe you'll be a better challenge than the rest of these guys." Donovan shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe. I used to play quite a bit when I was younger. We'll see if I still have the skills." He sipped at his drink, watching the other man lose slowly but steadily, occasionally tossing a response or two back to Sunny when she posed a question. Eventually, after another thirty minutes of the man valiantly trying to save face, he conceded defeat when Sunny sank the eight-ball into a corner pocket. Donovan strolled forward, nabbing a stick off the nearby rack, and set about helping Sunny reset the board.  
"So… when's that Courier you're supposed to meet coming into town?" Sunny asked while he was setting up a shot. He ignored her for a second, opting instead to smash one of the balls forward, knocking another one of his into the right middle pocket and sending one of her nearby ones to the back of the table. She frowned slightly at that.

"Dunno really." He paused again, reorienting himself to make another shot. "Could be tonight… could be tomorrow." Sunny glanced outside, frowning even more.

"If she's coming in tonight, it had better be soon. It's already dark. Land's not safe at this time of day." Donovan nodded once, sending his third ball into another hole. He glanced quickly at the clock on the wall. Eight forty-eight. He hummed in thought, consequently missing his next shot. He cursed and Sunny laughed.

"Finally! My turn. Maybe I'll actually get a shot in." She huffed in mock annoyance, causing him to smirk in response. As the game dragged on, with neither person gaining a real advantage over the other, the two players chatted quite a bit. Which was odd for Donovan. He didn't really talk to people much, preferring to keep to himself. She reminded him of his little sister he supposed, the same amount of stubbornness and inquisitiveness wrapped up in a single package. She was the same age too. That had freaked him out at first. In the game, she looked like she was about twenty-five or so, maybe slightly younger. Nope. The girl was barely sixteen according to Sunny herself. His smile grew over the course of their game, until it was a full blown grin.

"What are you grinning at?" She asked him, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. He shrugged, still smiling.

"Nothing really, you just remind me of my little sister. A lot actually." He said simply. She blinked owlishly at him for a few seconds, letting him line up another shot.

"Your sister? Huh. Sounds like someone I'd like to meet." She returned, grin stretching over her tanned face. The smile on his, however, faded. "What? What's wrong?" Sunny asked in mild concern for the man she had made quick friends with.

"It's nothing… I just don't think that's gonna happen." He looked down for a second as the rest of his smile was replaced with a frown. She grimaced.

"Is she… is she dead? I'm sorry that didn't come out right." She said apologetically, looking down at the floor. He shook his head quickly.

"No. She's not dead. I just don't think I'm going to see her again for a long time. If ever." He sighed. "Don't worry about it, Sunny. I'll figure it out." She still looked worried, but nodded once in acceptance. The grin on his face returned slightly. "Now come on. We've still got a game to play. You better focus on that or I'll beat you with my eyes closed." The smile reappeared on her face as well.

"You're on old man! I'll kick your ass!"

"Oi! Who are you calling old!? I'm twenty-two!" he cried indignantly, his tone almost whiny. She stuck her tongue out impishly at him.

"You're the one with silver hair here. That means you're old!" She teased, knocking one of her balls into a hole. He growled lowly before reaching over with his cue and bouncing off her head lightly, which caused her to mess up her next shot. The game quickly degenerated after that into a mock fight, only ending with her in a headlock, and him knuckling the top of her head lightly.

"Alright! Alright! I give! You're not old! Lemme go!" She whined. He laughed and released her, leaving her to pout childishly at him. "Meany." He just stuck his tongue out at her and walked to the bar in the other room. When he returned, he tossed her one of the Nuka-Cola's in his hands, and stepped out of the building and onto its front porch with her following closely behind. He sank down onto the edge of the porch with a thump and sighed. Sunny sat down, albeit more lightly, next to him and sipped her drink.

"So… You just gonna wait out here all night for her?" She asked. He shook his head once, looking out over the darkened town.

"No… I've got a feeling somethings going to happen soon." On the inside, he wanted to punch himself for such a cheesy phrase. 'Feeling' indeed. Sunny however, took it at face-value and nodded. He looked down at his Pipboy, checking the time. Ten forty. He leaned back slightly, staring up at the stars.

"So, tell me a bit about yourself, Sunny. I'd like to get to know the girl that acts like my sister." He asked, partly from genuine interest, and partly as a way to pass the time.

"Uh… first off, it's Alison. Not Sunny. I don't really let people call me that, but you seem like a nice guy so…" She rubbed the back of her neck, obviously embarrassed by it. Donovan hummed in thought.

"Alison… Alison… Pretty. Well, it certainly fits you. Your parents chose well." She blinked in surprise, but it quickly turned into a wide, beaming smile.

"Thanks old-timer." He grunted in exasperation, causing her to giggle girlishly. "But to answer your question, how about we play Questions? You ask me one, I ask you one?"

"Sounds fair. Alright, you go first." She tapped her chin lightly for a second before responding.

"Where were you born?" She asked. Donovan patted himself on the back mentally for not flinching.

"I was born in a suburb outside of Duluth, Wisconsin. Lived there for most of my life." She nodded, before motioning for him to ask his question. "Hmm. Do you have any family here?" She paused for a second, before opening her mouth to answer. She was cut off however, but the sound of gunfire coming from behind the Prospector Saloon, from the Goodsprings Cemetery to be exact. Two shots, close together, followed immediately by silence. The two companions stared at each other before an unspoken agreement was made. Sunny shot to her feet, rocketing back inside the building to grab her rifle and fetch Cheyenne. Donovan's hands drove straight for his Pipboy, rematerializing the armor around his form, and the M4 into his hands. He shouldered the weapon and flicked the safety off as Sunny burst back outside. He turned to look at her, not missing the subtle flinch she made upon seeing his helmet's glowing eyes.

"Stay behind me okay?" He spoke clearly. "This armor can stand getting shot a couple times. Yours however…" He trailed off at her nod and stepped off the porch, moving quickly around the corner of the Saloon in a low run. He shot past the old truck buried in the dirt and raced for the hill, Sunny following closely behind. Upon reaching the edge of the rise, Donovan stopped his run, crouching down and flicking his helmet's visor over to infrared detection, scanning the ridge above him as Sunny slowed to a stop next to him.

"Nothing. I can't see anyone." He said quietly to her. "Come on, let's get up there." He waited until he saw her red-colored form nod, and then began to move up the hill at a much slower pace than previous. As they crested the edge of the hill, he did another quick scan around it. Still nothing living, just a small lantern exactly where he expected it to be. Good.

"No-one's here. Not even a corpse. Whoever fired the shots must be long gone by now." He said, head still swiveling. "Let's go see what they were up to, yeah?" He asked, looking slightly at Sunny.

"Yes." She said simply and began walking towards the lantern, with him following. As they grew nearer, he flipped off the infrared, allowing him to see with more detail. There was a pair of shovels lain haphazardly over what was obviously a newly dug grave. A partially filled one at that. Sunny gasped loudly, causing him to jerk in surprise.

"What?! Are you okay?" She mutely shook her head, pointing to the grave. Playing up the 'clueless' act, Donovan dutifully looked over to where she was pointing.

"Shit..."He spoke eloquently. Sticking out of the blood-red pile of dirt at the bottom of the grave was a pair of black metal combat boots. "So there is a corpse after all." Then, the boots twitched. "Or not."


	3. Shooting Robins

**AN: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut up you lot. I make no apologies. Inspiration takes its sweet time. That and I lost half of this once, which took a while to recover. There's swearing in this chapter, so those who are easily offended watch out. I beta'd this myself for once, so if it shows, Molly's not at fault. For the third time, I own nothing. Peace out.**

"So… is it her?" Sunny asked, trying pointlessly to look over the taller man's shoulder as he read the papers in his hand. Donovan sighed, scratching the back of his head with his free hand.

"Yes. It's her." He stated, still purposefully holding the page so she couldn't see it. Alison huffed in mock annoyance and shuffled off into Doc Mitchell's kitchen. Donovan smirked slightly, still running his eyes over the invoices that they had found in the Courier's pouch. It wasn't anything all that informative, just a form listing the item she had carried, it's destination, the corporation's recipient, and the name of the Courier. Emily Ford. Donovan blinked slightly at that… it seemed so… normal, especially for a game like Fallout, what with names like Bittercup, or Timebomb, or _Moira_. Who'd name their child Moira anyways? He shrugged once, finishing off the note and folding it up before replacing it in Ford's bag on the table. He sat down heavily on one of the nearby chairs, pulling a Sunset Sarsaparilla from atomized storage and cracked the seal. As he started to drink, a loud banging noise came from Doc's operating room, which was closely followed by the sound of Doc swearing loudly. He slammed the drink down on the table, and Donovan and Alison simultaneously bolted towards the door. He shoved the door open, and quickly slipped past the Vigor-tester and the shelving near it. Both he and Alison froze as the sight in front of them finally registered. Doc Mitchell stood in the center of the room with his hands raised high in the air, glowering, and about ten feet away from him, standing next to the bed, was a short, scared looking, pink-haired girl wrapped in only a sheet she was holding over her torso. So this was Ford. She also happened to be pointing a revolver at Doc Mitchell's head. Wait, _pink_?

Donovan, Mitchell, and Alison exchanged looks for a few seconds before Alison mumbled, "Well… ain't this awkward?" Donovan barely resisted the urge to facepalm at that. He sighed deeply.

"Miss? Please, would you mind putting the gun down? No-one here's going to hurt you. Doc was just patching you up from getting… well, getting shot in the head." Ford's eyes darted nervously between the other three, pistol shaking slightly.

"S-so… he's not going m-molest me?" She asked quietly. Donovan's brain short-circuited at that while Mitchell's jaw fell open. Alison snickered for a second, before dissolving into full-blown laughter. Within seconds, Donovan's brain kicked back into gear, and he swiftly kicked her in the shin. She tumbled over, shouted obscenities as she went, and landed face-first on the floor. He sighed again, before turning back to Ford.

"No. He is not going to molest you." He bit out, a ring of distaste echoing through his voice. Ford relaxed slightly at that, though it was probably more due to Alison's presence, even if she was rolling around the floor in pain. She lowered the pistol to her side and Donovan let out a huff of air. "It was us," he pointed to himself and Sunny, "who brought you to Doc Mitchell last night." He paused slightly at Ford's wince. "You were… in a bad way." She nodded, rage contorting briefly on her face, and Donovan could see her knuckles whitening as she gripped the gun at her side. Donovan blinked. So this would be a revenge-type quest. Fun. Doc Mitchell's mouth finally snapped closed, and a look of outrage quickly flowed over his features. Donovan frowned, already pissed at the aging Doctor from last night when the man clocked Donovan over the head for "Getting me up so late". To stave off the coming storm, Donovan cut across whatever Doc was about to say. "How about we talk later? After… you get dressed." She blinked once, then her face immediately colored deeply. "We'll just be in the kitchen. Down the hall on the left." She nodded shakily, still beet-red, and Donovan gripped Sunny by the arm and started dragging her out the door, much to her chagrin. When he reached the door, and noticed that Mitchell wasn't following him, he turned back. "Doc? You coming?" The man frowned.

"I don't think she should be out of bed yet." He stated. "There's a chance that she's still healing- Hey! Unhand me boy! This is not how you treat you're elders!" The man cried as Donovan dragged him out of the room as well, calling, "Sorry about this!" back at Ford as the door shut.

It took about a while, but a fully-dressed Ford eventually peered shyly around the kitchen corner to find Doc Mitchell glaring down a cowering Alison, and an un-impressed Donovan from across the kitchen table. Donovan turned towards her and smiled slightly as he beckoned her to a seat. She stepped carefully over and sat down next to him, cautiously returning his smile. Doc Mitchell grunted in disapproval causing Donovan to roll his eyes.

"Well, I suppose we should start with introductions yes?" Ford nodded. "Okay, I guess I'll go first. I'm Donovan Lansing. I'm a… well, I guess you could call me a hired gun, or mercenary, whichever suit's your fancy. I was also supposed to be your escort from Goodsprings on out." Ford's eyes widened at that, before her brows furrowed in thought, nibbling on her bottom lip. Donovan blinked rapidly to overcome the cuteness factor of the scene.

"Why?" She asked, her voice quiet. Donovan shrugged.

"Heck if I know. I guess they thought someone else would be after your package… apparently they were right." She winced again. "Sorry." He said, sheepishly.

"Not your fault…" She said lowly. He sighed.

"Well, anyways, the shorty next to me is Sunny Smiles." Sunny jolted out of her funk at that, and once she actually registered what he said, her face distorted in anger.

"Hey! Who are you calling short, old man?!" Donovan glared.

"You! And I'm not old, damnit!"

"Whatever, you grey-haired fossil!" Sunny retorted and then promptly shrieked as Donovan's fist bounced off the top of her head. He growled at her.

"Brat." He turned back to Ford, who was smiling widely, "What?" He asked suspiciously.

"Nothing." She said, far too quickly for his liking.

"Sure." His eyes narrowed at her, but she continued to smile innocently. "This grumpy old man here," he waved vaguely in Doc's direction, "is Doc Mitchell." Said person grunted in disapproval. "He'll patch you up, but he bitches a lot." Queue second grunt. Ford chuckled lightly at that. Well, it was more of a giggle.

"I'm Emily Ford… but I figure you already know that." Donovan nodded, eyes shifting to the side.

"Yeah… sorry, but we kinda had to go through your Pip-boy and bags. To figure out who you were." Ford waved it off, shrugging.

"Don't worry about it. It's not like I keep personal stuff on it anyways." She said dismissively. Donovan nodded, smiling. After a few seconds of silence from the group, his face turned more serious.

"Well… I think we'll need to figure out what our next move is, won't we?" He spoke. Ford's eyebrows furrowed for a second in thought.

"Next… move? What do you mean?" Donovan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, words formulating in his head.

"Well… you need to recover the package don't you?" He asked. Ford nodded once, hesitantly. "And I assume you want to find the person who shot you too." She nodded again. This time firmly. "And my job is to keep you from getting killed until the package is delivered." He shrugged. "Then I believe our newest goal is to find whoever stole it." He said in conclusion. Emily blinked slowly, and then a smile slowly stretched across her face, spreading to almost inhuman proportions. She nodded again, this time happily, and suddenly threw her arms around Donovan who jolted in surprise. She squeezed tightly before freezing in place, finally realizing what happened. She quickly let go, moving back to sitting ram-rod straight in her chair with her cheeks a deep red.

"S-sorry, I'm just not used to people helping- I… Thank you." She said meekly, eyes focused on her hands. Donovan's surprised face quickly schooled itself into a small smile.

"Don't worry about it." He said, echoing her words from before. She looked up at him and returned his smile.

Doc Mitchell coughed loudly, causing both of them to jump in shock. Donovan turned his glare on the other man while Sunny snickered lightly in the background. Mitchell ignored the glare and waved his hands in a shooing motion.

"If you two are done, you can have your little meeting elsewhere. She seems fine enough medically speaking, so out. All of you." Sunny snickered again at that, before she stood up.

"Come on. We can all talk down at the saloon. The booths are private there." She grinned wickedly. "Besides, someone has to make sure you two love birds don't do anything inappropriate." Ford's face did an accurate impression of a tomato at that as she stood from her chair, sputtering denials as she went. Donovan, sporting his own, if smaller blush, yelled out "I don't even know her! What the Hell?" Before he knocked Sunny over the head with his fist and spun around, stalking out of the house. Emily followed him shortly, but not before shooting a withering glare at the younger girl. Sunny just chuckled, rubbing her head slightly as she followed the two into the rising Nevada morn.

Donovan sat down heavily into the booth, sighing slightly before he turned to face Ford. She sat down quite a bit more gracefully across from him and folded her hands in her lap. Sunny trailed behind them, a small grin still on her face much to Donovan's chagrin. He glowered at her to no effect as she sat down next to Ford. Sunny's grin widened into a smile and she rocked back in the booth, lacing her hands together behind her head.

"So what's our plan?" She asked. Donovan's frown deepened as he glanced at her.

"Our plan? Who said anything about you coming with?" He said lowly. Sunny's smile faded at that.

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm coming with!" She cried indignantly, rocking forward to glare at him. He stared at her, face expressionless. Well this was different than the game. He drooped in his chair and sighed, shooting a look at Ford, who shrugged.

"I don't mind," Ford commented. "The trek across Nevada isn't that dangerous anyways. From what I hear, the NCR has this place pretty cleaned up." Donovan snorted at that, muttering "NCR? Clean? Christ no." Emily gave him an odd look, but he shrugged it off. Sunny leaned forward, lip stuck out in the barest hint of a pout with her eyes watering slightly.

"Alison, I don't…" The puppy dog look deepened. "Damnit, fine. Just don't complain to me if you don't like the consequences." That look was exactly the same as the one his sister would give him when she couldn't get her way. They were more alike than he cared to admit. He sighed again, sagging even deeper into the booth's couch. This certainly wasn't the way things panned out in the game, but he supposed that his own presence was screwing everything up. It wasn't logical otherwise. Donovan just hoped he wasn't leading her to her death.

Sunny cheered, pumping her fist in the air. Emily beamed at Donovan, who felt his cheeks warm in response. 'Jeeze. What am I? Fifteen?' He thought to himself, 'Blushing like a kid the moment a pretty girl smiles at me.' He frowned, trying to get rid of the blush.

"Okay. So now that's settled, let's get to business shall we?" Donovan started. He turned to look at Emily. She nodded, face becoming serious at the turn in conversation.

"Well, you were hired by my employer too right?" She asked. Donovan hesitated at that. It was a pretty safe bet that it had been House that had brought him here, though he wasn't entirely sure. Oh well. He nodded jerkily. "Then, do you know anything that might help?" Donovan's frown deepened as he thought quietly for a minute, trying to estimate how much information he wanted to give out.

"I know a little." He said slowly, trying to force his face into a mask of indifference. "I know that the package was ordered by Mister House in New Vegas. It was one of six. The package, a poker chip, was some sort of electronic device that House wanted."  
"There were six other packages?" Ford asked. Donovan nodded.

"Yes. Yours was the only one worth anything though. The others were decoys from what I was told." He allowed. Sunny blinked, head cocking to the side.

"Wait. If House was trying to keep the package's transport under the local radar, why did he assign you to guard her? Wouldn't a guard attract more attention?" Donovan shrugged.

"Maybe. I don't know why. I guess House thought, correctly mind you, that his little ploy had been discovered." Sunny nodded grimly at that, whereas Emily flinched again, hand coming up to touch the side of her head. "Sorry." Donovan said quickly, but Emily shook it off.

"Don't worry about it." She paused for a second. "Well, I know that there's a Mojave Express office south of us in Primm. They might have more information on the package, but the man who shot me, he could already be in Vegas by now. Or hell, out of the state!" She slumped in her seat, looking defeated. Donovan leaned forward.

"I don't think so. The shortest route to Vegas has been cut off recently. Death Claws and Cazadores moved into the passes the lead to New Vegas from here, and have pretty much blocked off all traffic. As for another state? It's possible, but I doubt he's gotten far. The only viable route is down the highway to the Mojave Outpost, and through there." He stated.

"And the NCR's not letting anybody through lately anyways." Sunny interjected. Donovan nodded.

"I think you're right Ms. Ford. Our best route is probably into Primm. From there we can figure out more of what's going on." Donovan said. Sunny nodded at that, causing Emily's smile to return a little.

"Alright. Then well head there then. When should we leave?" She asked, looking more at Sunny than Donovan. Sunny shrugged. "I'll just need a few hours to pack my things, and then we can head out." She said simply. "Oh. And I should probably tell Trudy that I'm going. Don't want to get yelled at later." She shuddered in her seat. Emily glanced questioningly at Donovan, but he just shrugged in ignorance.

"Okay. That sounds good. I think I need to head over to the store and buy some ammunition. Should we meet back here in, say an hour?" Emily asked, head turning between the other two. Sunny nodded once, as did Donovan.

"Yeah, that's fine." Sunny stood from the booth and walked off, heading out the door. Ford glanced at Donovan, who shrugged.

"I don't really have anything to do. I'll just wait here until then. Listen to the town gossip and the radio. I've got everything I need right now." He said, leaning back in the couch. She gave a slight nod and moved off.

When the door swung closed behind her, Donovan sighed deeply and materialized a water bottle from his storage. He popped the cap and started sipping, tuning his ear to the other conversations within the saloon. He soon realized that the people in this town were boring as hell. Most of their conversations consisted of 'The harvest was small this year,' or 'Did you hear about the time my dog jumped the creek?' Donovan sighed. He guessed he should have expected this. They were normal people after all. This was real life, not just a game where half the population wanted to kill you, and the other half just wandered around aimlessly for the rest of their lives.

He had just finished off his first bottle when the door to the saloon flew open and in stepped a man dressed in police blues. Donovan stiffened, sitting up straight in his chair. It was Joe Cobb. 'Damnit. I totally forgot about this.' He swore to himself. This was one side quest that he almost never did in the game. He had never seen the point in it. Cobb stalked past his booth and rounded right on Trudy, who was in the middle of polishing the bar's counter.

"We know he's here! I'll tell you one last time. Give us Ringo or you all will die!" He shouted, oblivious to the ten or so pistols that had been drawn on his back. Donovan taped on his Pip-boy without looking and felt his armor and helmet fade into place around him. Trudy, true to form, stared at him impassively, hand still running the rag over the counter. Donovan shifted in his seat, hand on his pistol and prepared to stand to intervene if the bastard got any ideas.

"Our answer hasn't changed Cobb. We're not going to hand over _anyone_ to die. That's just not how this town works." Trudy said slowly, as if talking to a child. Cobb's face contorted in rage, hands balling into fists. The other hands in the room slowly got closer and closer to pulling a trigger. Donovan on the other hand, carefully tried to recall the events of this quest, and was already noticing the differences. Cobb slammed his hand down on the counter in fury, knocking over a few bottles of beer in the process.

"Listen here bitch." Donovan stood. "If you don't hand over Ringo…" Donovan stepped forward quietly, hand resting on his gun. "Me and my boys will burn this little hellhole to the ground." Donovan stopped just behind him and set a hand heavily on Cobb's shoulder.

"I think you should pay for the beer you spilled, and leave, buddy. You've overstayed your welcome." He told Cobb lowly, keeping his voice calm. Cobb stiffened, his right hand twitching on the counter. He slowly swiveled his head around, speaking as he did.

"Who the fuck do you think… you… are?" He trailed off as he finally saw the seven foot tall armored man behind him, helmet's eyes glowing a deep red. Cobb's mouth dropped open in shock, and fear flickered in his eyes. It was quickly masked by hatred and rage.

"Nobody makes Joe Cobb do anything you little shit." Donovan's hand gripped tighter into Cobb's shoulder making him wince.

"Leave. Now." Donovan growled, right hand still resting on his nine millimeter. Cobb's mouth curled into a hideous sneer.

"I don't think so jackass. You can make me do anything." Donovan stared silently at him for a second, eye's burrowing into Cobb's. Trudy tapped on the counter behind them, causing him to look up.

"If anyone is going to shoot somebody, do it outside. The blood isn't easy to get out of the floor." Donovan nodded slowly.

"I think that is a fantastic idea. Let's go." With his left hand on Cobb's shoulder, he began to drag him towards the door. Cobb started to panic.

"I-if you kill me, my boys'll come riding into town and kill you all!" He cried, flailing in his attempt to remove Donovan's grip from his shoulder. Donovan smiled from within his helmet. This would kill two birds with one stone, _and_ allow him to skip over a hell of a lot of wasted time. He sobered up quickly though. This wasn't a laughing matter. Though he did have a huge advantage in VATS, there was still a chance he could be shot. He doubted that it would get through his armor, but still. Donovan pushed Cobb out the door, stepping out behind him. Cobb stumbled over the porch, but managed to right himself before he fell. He glared viciously at Donovan and spat on the ground by his feet. Donovan just shrugged and strode into the middle of the street, cautiously watching Cobb in case he decided to pull something. He glanced at the saloon to find just about everybody from inside coming out onto the porch, some still with pistols drawn. Cobb moved into place just across from him and spread his legs in a wide position, hand raised just above his hip in a classic western stance. Donovan settled into one of his own, ready to pull his pistol as soon as he needed. He prepared himself for the onrush of VATS and stared straight at Cobb. A lady stepped forward from the crowd, walking towards the middle of the two fighters. Donovan spotted Emily's face mixed in with the gathered people. She looked worried. The self-appointed referee raised one of her arms in the air, looking back and forth between the two.

"Alright. On three. Draw in, One" Donovan's hand twitched. "Two" Cobb began to move, ignoring the count as his hand shot towards his gun. The woman's hand dropped. "Three!" Donovan's hand moved like lightning, grabbing the butt of the M9 and ripped it out of the holster as Cobb's own gun raised. Donovan felt the rush of chemicals flooding into his system as his Pip-boy activated VATS. Donovan calmly picked Cobb's head and released the feeling. His arms raised in a flash and the pistol erupted in his hand, the bullet singing through the air for a few glorious nano-seconds before slamming between Cobb's eyes with a wet slap. Cobb, with his gun half-way into position, toppled backwards to the dirt, with his brain sprayed out over the road behind him. VATS deactivated, and Donovan felt his perception return to normal, the color faze back into the world around him. He sighed. Now to just deal with the rest of the Powder Gangers.

"What were you thinking?! You could have been killed!" Sunny shouted, flailing her arms in the air as she ran towards him. Emily followed behind her, a frown on her face as well. Donovan shrugged.

"There wasn't much chance of that happening Alison. I have a few aces up my sleeve. Literally in one case." He tapped his Pip-boy. "Besides, Cobb threatened to burn this entire town to the ground. It was a lose-lose situation anyway." He said casually, holstering the pistol he held. A voice piped up from the crowd, harsh and condescending.

"And now you've killed us all too. Cobb's gang'll come riding down here any moment and shoot us all dead." It was Chet, the store owner that had spoken. Emily glared heatedly at the short man as he pointed an accusing finger at them. Donovan quirked an eyebrow at that. She must have taken a disliking to him during her short jaunt at his store. Donovan opened his mouth to speak, but Trudy beat him to it.

"They would have burned this town one way or another." She said, stepping from the crowd. "They want Ringo bad. Bad enough to kill us all to get him. While I may not approve of Mister Lansing's methods," She sent a disappointed frown his way, which he just shrugged off. "But he has done us a favor. Their leader is dead, and they're disorganized. That gives us time to prepare."

"If we hadn't have taken in Ringo, they wouldn't be bothering us to begin with!" Chet cried from his place in the gathered people. Some of whom agreed apparently, as muttering started surfacing from the back of the group. Trudy frowned, but it was Doc Mitchell who spoke up next.

"And if we hadn't taken _you_ in, we wouldn't have to put up with the shit that pours out of your mouth day in and day out." He spat, obviously annoyed at the smarmy shop owner. Chet's face colored as several people in the audience outright laughed at him. He tried to sputter out a reply, but Trudy cut across him.

"All joking aside, Chet is half right. They will likely come down here and try to take revenge for the death of their boss, and try to take Ringo by force. However, they're forgetting one thing. This is the Mojave Wasteland, and in it, _everyone_ carries a gun." She looked meaningfully at a few of the people around her. All of them nodded in return. Donovan felt the need to speak. He took off his helmet and opened his mouth.

"I apologize for causing this town trouble, but these men… They aren't the type to leave you all alone, even if you had given them Ringo without a fight. All these men see is their own greed, and once they set their sights on something, they won't stop until they've got it, or until whoever currently owns it beats them to death with a stick. They'd have come after the town eventually, and this time, they'd do it without any warning. They'd murder and rape their way through here, and none of you would be able to stop it. Since I'm the most obvious catalyst to this, and if my companions agree," He looked to both Sunny and Ford, "then I'll lead the defense of the town." He paused, noting Trudy's nod and the general looks of agreement from the crowd. Probably because he was the only one amongst them that looked like he had any sort of military training at all. He turned to face his companions, who looked grim, but nodded firmly in support. He smiled.

"Alight then. There's a good chance that the Powder Gangers already know what happened. They're dumb, but they're not stupid. He pointed southwest, to the hills along the side of the town. "Lookouts up there most likely." He squinted up at the ridge, and after a few seconds, the tell-tale flash of reflected light bouncing off of a binocular lens greeted him in response. "Yeah. They know. Who all here can handle a gun?" He looked over the group. Everyone's hand raised. He sighed. "I mean a rifle." They still stayed up. "Who of you are accurate over forty yards with it?" Hands slowly went down, leaving ten or so raised. "Good. Those of you who aren't, help those who can in any way possible until the fighting starts. When it does, get yourselves and you children into whatever basements are available." He received several determined nods and vocal affirmatives in response. " Explosives?" He asked. Two hands went up. "That'll have to do, I suppose. You two, I assume you mean dynamite?" The pair, Pete and another man Donovan remembered from the saloon nodded. "Det cord or thrown?"

The two looked at each other for a second, before both speaking in unison. "Thrown." Donovan nodded, brows furrowed together.

"Good. That should be fine." He searched around for a second before finding what he wanted. He plucked the stick off the ground and began to draw a rough outline of the town into the dirt below him.

"Everyone gather round. Who here uses scopes?" Four of the ten gunmen raised their hands as did Emily and Sunny. "Good. Here's what we'll do. Emily, Sunny, and the rest of you will set up in pairs here, here, and here, on the roof of the General Store." He pointed to the various locations drawn onto the dirt map. "You should have plenty of cover from incoming fire and a good view of the incoming road." They nodded in sync. "You two." He said, pointing at the explosives team. "You'll be behind the rocks in front of the Saloon. It should be high enough to give you a good angle on the Powder Gangers as they run through. You start throwing as soon as they get into range." Pete grunted in acknowledgement. "Everyone else, you'll be splayed in the ruins here, and in the ditch across the road, here. Those houses and the depression should provide plenty of cover."

"And where will you be?" Pete coughed, hefting his bag of explosives. Donovan grinned like a man possessed.

"Right here. In the middle of the street." He paused, as if just barely remembering something, then quickly tapped away on his Pip-boy. He withdrew the M4 from it, aimed up at the hill, and snap-fired two shots off. As he felt the effects of VATS fading, he watched the pair of men topple over, dropping to the ground. He turned back to the group in front of him.

"Go get your guns and get set up. I doubt we have much time."


End file.
